


The death knell tolls for thee

by LJH



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Funeral, it’s okay - he is a vampire, somber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 04:17:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LJH/pseuds/LJH
Summary: I usually find the 500 word limit challenging. But today I found 300ish words to be just perfect.Forgive me if I didn’t tag correctly.





	The death knell tolls for thee

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [sh_ficletinstruments](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_ficletinstruments) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> It's not every day that you gatecrash your own funeral, but it is today.

I can’t stop from watching the water drip off the edges of umbrellas. Of everything and everyone around me, it’s all I can see. Not a sea of black umbrellas like on a TV funeral. Several colors and patterns, no real rhyme or reason. How can you expect a group of strangers to be prepared enough to keep a black umbrella in their closet Incase of a funeral? It’s stupid to think that would happen. But it is what I was envisioning. 

Either way, they are standing there, gathered around a gravesite, a bunch of bodies with umbrella heads. Water dropping and sliding down the sides like tears, then plummeting to the earth, disappearing. 

I pull my own umbrella open. It is perfectly black and quietly opens as I place it over my head. Now the rain goes from a soft song to hard notes upon an enemy surface. 

I join the edge of the group. Enough to hear the muffled cries of my mother and the trailing rites of the rabbi. It instantly cracks my heart, and my eyes risk tears. I know this was a mistake. That I’m not strong enough for this. I grip the handle of my umbrella so tightly I hear it groan. I back away slowly, before the service is over and walk past the oak trees and down the hill. 

I watch again from far away. 

Like it is television. 

Where it can’t hurt me. 

I pretend I don’t recognize the rainbow polka dot umbrella from years of sitting at the side of my front door. Or the slim build of my best friend. Or the people curled around her. 

Upon returning home, I find a note left upon my dresser. 

It is a ivory card with a simple quote, in not so simple handwriting. 

_ Life asked Death, “Death, why do people love me but hate you?” Death responded, “Because you are a beautiful lie and I am the painful truth.” _

I sit on the edge of the bed and I let myself mourn the death of my life. 

  
  



End file.
